Their First Noel
by EHfan
Summary: As Christmas approaches, Rachel discovers being assigned to Hood might have its benefits after all.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Ok, it's a little late for a Christmas story, but this one's not really about Christmas. It's more about Jacob and Rachel beginning to develop a working relationship.

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"I'm sorry but it looks like I'm not going to make it," Rachel Young murmured into her cell phone. "Dr. Hood's been called out for a consult. I can't tell how long we'll be in the field so I'll cancel my ticket and we can plan to meet sometime in the new year." She listened briefly to the other side of the conversation. "Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too." She ended the call and slumped down in her seat for a moment.

As much as she had been looking forward to a break, part of her was actually relieved Hood had been called out on a case. While she knew it most likely meant something bad had happened, it also meant she had a legitimate excuse to not spend the long holiday weekend with her father. Not that she had a problem with him, it was merely that their relationship was …difficult. She hadn't been looking forward to explaining, once again, the politics behind her transfer from Counter-Terrorism to the EPD. Her father shared her dismay at her transfer and lost no opportunity to remind her of his disappointment.

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Jonathan Young's brief conversation with his daughter left him with a faint feeling of irritation. He wasn't irritated because Rachel wouldn't be able to visit for Christmas. Truth be told, he had been wondering what the two of them would do stuck with each other for four days. She wasn't one for shopping and, since he had retired to Florida, she couldn't use the excuse of visiting old school friends to escape the house, allowing them both a few hours of breathing space.

It wasn't because she was prevented from visiting him due to the demands of her job. As a former agent, he understood; the job came first. No, it was the job itself that roused his ire. He still couldn't believe an agent with her qualifications was stuck baby-sitting an absent-minded, middle-aged nerd who apparently didn't have the sense to come in out of the rain.

He gave a snort of disgust as he imagined what her assignment must look like. In his mind's eye he pictured a stooped, prematurely balding man, peering out at the world myopically through thick glasses; a cross between Einstein and Mr. Magoo.

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Jacob Hood looked over curiously at his companion. She had taken advantage of the nearly deserted gate area to move away from him to make her phone call. It was clear from what he overheard that she had plans for the holiday. He wondered if she resented those plans being cancelled. He knew her well enough by now to know he wouldn't have a clue if she did; she not only wouldn't discuss her personal affairs with him but she would also hide her true feelings behind the polite, indifferent mask she presented to the world.

For himself, he didn't mind the call to work. While he enjoyed spending time with Alex and Owen, Christmas merely emphasized the fact he didn't, and most likely never would, have the family he always wanted. Sometimes he thought being among strangers, getting lost in some scientific inquiry, was infinitely preferable to being reminded of the future he had expected to have.

With a small sigh, he returned to the file folder in his hand and was once again engrossed in the details it provided.

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Rachel roused herself from her reverie and walked over to where Hood was sitting. Taking the seat beside him, she eyed him speculatively. While she swore to herself that she wouldn't be content until she was back in C-T; she had to admit that this detail wasn't quite as bad as she had first thought it would be.

Ok, yes, Hood _was_ a bit difficult. He didn't follow her orders the way he should and he had a nasty habit of zoning out when it was least convenient. But the work was pretty varied. This would be the third time they would be out in the field and she wasn't quite sure what to expect. The previous cases Hood had worked were wildly different. The first had turned out to be a case of multiple murder and the other nothing more than a student prank in a federally funded research lab. She wondered exactly what they, well, he would be doing this time.

Having learned quickly that Hood reading meant Hood oblivious to the world, she jiggled his arm.

"So, we're going to Little Rock 'cause a bunch of people developed meningitis?"

Jacob looked up with a small smile. "Actually, we're going to Arkadelphiaand if you classify eight people as a _bunch_, then yes, a bunch of people have been affected."

"What's the big deal? My roommate in college had it. The health center said it wasn't serious." She smirked a bit, "they said as long as I didn't kiss her or use her eating utensils I'd be fine."

"She must have had viral meningitis. And they were right, that form isn't very contagious or serious. But these people have presented with bacterial meningitis which is highly contagious and often fatal." He looked at Rachel soberly, "in fact, there's already been one death attributed to this outbreak."

Rachel knitted her brows in concentration. "Ok, this is a bad kind of meningitis, but still, only eight people have gotten sick. What makes it something for the FBI?"

"Bacterial meningitis isn't common, generally it only affects three people out of 100,000. So having eight cases turn up in a town of 10,000 is a statistical anomaly that bears investigation."

At Rachel's puzzled expression, Jacob explained further, "something is going on there, either a natural or man-made occurrence, for an outbreak like this to happen. The CDC can't figure it out so they've asked me to come down and take a look."

Rachel's eyes widened, "What do you mean, a _man-made_ occurrence? Do you think this could be related to terrorist activity? Some kind of test of a biological weapon?"

"Maybe," Jacob shrugged negligently. "Or it could be something as simple as a bacterial mutation due to local ecological factors."

"What will you do?"

"Look around, see what occurs to me. It's not exactly a linear process."

Rachel sighed as Hood once again became preoccupied with his file folders. She could see why his other handlers became frustrated. His thought process was erratic, to put it mildly. It was disconcerting to someone with her training, which _did _emphasize the linear, to realize the course of her day would be governed by the whims of the man sitting beside her.

She passed the time before boarding going over the limited logistical information she had been given. It turned out Hood was right; their flight was to Little Rock because it was the closest airport to Arkadelphia. They would be met by an agent from the local field office who would provide them with transportation. They would then travel to Arkadelphia where Hood would meet up with representatives from the Center for Disease Control, the Arkansas Criminal Investigation Division, and the local sheriff.

Rachel fervently hoped the investigation wouldn't be held up in a pissing contest between the various agencies to determine who was in charge. She recalled the difficulties during the case in Buffalo where only the local LEO had to be pacified. She wasn't looking forward to a fighting a turf war on Hood's behalf with both the local and state cops.

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Pulling up in front of the small hospital Rachel was surprised when they were intercepted by a man in the uniform of the local police. She had assumed they would meet all of the players in this little drama at the same time. She cynically wondered if the local LEO was trying to steal a march on his state counterpart.

"Excuse me; are you the people the FBI sent?"

Rachel automatically stepped in front of Hood. "Yes, I'm Special Agent Young and this is Dr. Hood."

The man stuck out his hand, which Rachel, and then Hood shook. "I'm Eric Bailey, the sheriff for Clark County. Look, I'm not here to stake any claims, hell, what's going on is way out of my league, but I thought I should warn you. The CID is pretty pissed off the health guys called in the FBI. According to him, this isn't a federal case so I wouldn't expect a lot of cooperation from him."

"How about you Sheriff Bailey?" Rachel asked, "what can we expect from you?"

The man leaned against the building and sighed. "One of my deputies is in there with meningitis. All I know is the CDC descended on my town saying this outbreak was unusual and they needed to look into it. The next thing I know, the CID shows up and nothing seems to be happening but a lot of arguing." He looked at her and Hood bleakly. "And two more citizens of my county have gotten sick. So if you think you can figure out what's going on here, I'm at your disposal."

Nodding his head in approval, Jacob peppered the man with questions as they headed inside to meet the others. Rachel couldn't see the point of most of what Hood was asking; his questions seemed pretty random to her and she could see from the look on the local LEO's face he thought the same thing.

Jacob broke off his questions when they came upon the doctor from the CDC who was talking quietly to another man.

"Robert, it's good to see you again."

The man looked at him in relief. "Jacob! I'm glad you were available. I'm stumped by what's going on here and could use your expertise." He turned to Rachel and extended his hand. "I'm Dr. Robert Kessler and you are…?"

Jacob completed the introduction. "This is Special Agent Rachel Young. She's my FBI, uh,"

"I'm Dr. Hood's FBI bodyguard and handler," Rachel interjected smoothly. She turned to the other man who she assumed was the representative of the CID. She flushed angrily when the other man gave her a derisive look and ignored her out-stretched hand.

"Lieutenant Gerry Tidwell," the man announced, holding out his hand to Jacob. "I'm with the Arkansas Criminal Investigation Division. I'll be your liaison during your time here in Arkadelphia."

Jacob's brows drew together at the rudeness toward Rachel. He realized there was often some tension between his handlers and the state and local forces; the locals resented the FBI coming in and claiming jurisdiction. Even so, he found this man's behavior offensive.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted his head, regarding the man coolly. "I don't think so Lieutenant. Between Rachel and Sheriff Bailey I'm sure I'll have adequate assistance. Now if you'll excuse us, Dr. Kessler and I need to review his findings." He turned and began to walk up the hallway with his friend.

Tidwell's mouth tightened in anger. "Just a goddamned minute," he growled. He reached out and grabbed Jacob by the arm. "I'm the agent…" he got no further before Rachel reacted.

Pulling her weapon, she used its weight to add force to the uppercut she delivered to the elbow of the arm grasping Hood. At the same time, her booted foot snaked out and struck the side of Tidwell's knee. A second kick sent the man sprawling backwards. In seconds Tidwell found himself flat on his back with Rachel's foot across his throat. When he reached up to grab her leg, she pushed her foot down slightly causing him to subside. He looked up at her in fury.

"Dr. Hood is a valuable federal asset. If you _ever_ lay a hand on him again, I _will _hurt you. Understand?"

Rachel stepped back, her face deadpan as Tidwell scrambled to his feet. "Don't think you're gonna get away with this you bitch," he snarled. "I'm reporting you right now." He stormed down the hallway to the elevators. She turned to find Kessler and Bailey gaping at her. Hood was slowly shaking his head. She met his eyes, silently daring him to say something.

Jacob supposed he shouldn't be surprised Rachel could take down a man a good eight inches taller and about one hundred pounds heavier. After all, she was an FBI-trained bodyguard. Ty wouldn't have assigned her to his detail if she couldn't do the job. Still, he shook his head; he couldn't see the point of that little demonstration. It would only make his work more difficult. He decided he would take it up with her when they were in private. He didn't want to upbraid her in public.

"Well, Robert," he turned to his friend, "let's review those test results of yours."

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As Hood and the doctor from the CDC went over the records of the patients with meningitis, Rachel quietly talked to Bailey. Soon she had a good grasp of the geography of the area and the relationships, or lack thereof, between all of the patients. Bailey had a few questions of his own; he quizzed her about Hood's background and qualifications. Rachel was about to ask for a hotel recommendation when Hood announced he was ready to leave.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I'd like to do an environmental scan of the homes of these patients." Jacob turned to Bailey. "I think it would be helpful for you to accompany us. Seeing the local sheriff might make people a little more inclined to co-operate."

Bailey nodded in agreement and made some helpful suggestions about how to approach the task.

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Rachel wasn't surprised when, as soon as they got into the car, Hood brought up her confrontation with Tidwell.

"Honestly Rachel, I don't know why you felt the need to man-handle Tidwell." he pursed his lips. "Was it really necessary?"

"Yes." She refused to elaborate. Damn it, she didn't need to explain herself to him.

"Why? He wasn't a threat to my safety. You offended and embarrassed him. After your actions, it will be almost impossible to work with him effectively."

"It'll be fine."

"How can you say that? He was furious and looking to make trouble; he's probably calling the FBI field office to report you for excessive force or something."

Rachel couldn't help it, her lips twitched and she let out a snort of laughter. "Oh, I don't think he's gonna report me to anyone. What, admit he let a _girl_ get the drop on him?" She shook her head, "Nah, once he has a chance to cool off he'll decide not to mention it. I'm willing to bet he goes so far as to get himself called back to Little Rock."

Jacob was sidetracked by this line of thought. "Really? Is that why you did it, to get rid of him?"

Rachel was silent for a moment. Mentally shrugging she decided she might as well give Hood the truth. It would be easy to lie, to agree she was trying to get rid of an uncooperative agent. But she had come to realize how much Hood valued honesty; she didn't want to jeopardize their working relationship with a pointless lie.

"No, I did it because I don't have a penis."

"I… I … beg …your pardon?" Jacob stuttered.

Glancing over, she was amused to see his cheeks were turning pink. _'Christ, what a prude.'_ She wondered how he'd have reacted if she had told him bluntly that having a pussy was a distinct disadvantage in her chosen line of work. She grinned inwardly, _'he'd probably faint.'_

"Assholes like Tidwell, they think a penis is a requirement for a position in law enforcement. Pushing him around like I did is the only way to get his respect. You saw his face when I was introduced, the way he wouldn't shake my hand." She snorted, not in amusement this time. "Probably thought I was your go-fer or worse. Well, I made sure he knew exactly why I was with you."

Silently, Jacob pondered her words. From what Robert had intimated about Tidwell when they discussed the case it was likely Rachel was correct. Robert had found the man overbearing; he wasn't looking forward to having to deal with him himself. "What about the sheriff? Was your little, uh, demonstration, for his benefit as well?"

"Nah, he's ok. He pretty much laid all his cards on the table when we met. He's grateful _both_ of us are here. He wants answers and he doesn't care who gives them to him." She nodded in approval, "he's a good cop, he worries about his people, not his pride."

Jacob raised his eyebrows, impressed that Rachel could read people so quickly and accurately. She had just echoed the opinions Robert had expressed about the two men. Opinions he had developed after working with them for a few days.

Before he could comment, they arrived at the first house. Rachel pulled her SUV into the driveway behind Bailey's police cruiser. As they joined him in the walkway he explained this was the home of his deputy, Bill Heen. Heen had been one of the first people to come down with meningitis. The door opened before they had a chance to knock. A woman holding a toddler, with another small child wrapped around her leg, stood in the doorway.

"Eric, is something wrong? Is Bill…." she looked frightened.

"It's ok Janet," Bailey said soothingly. "These people are from the FBI, they've been sent to help figure out what's going on here.

Jacob nodded to the woman. "I'm Jacob Hood, I'm a scientist and this is Special Agent Rachel Young. I was hoping you'd let us look around your home. I've seen all of your husband's medical reports and this kind of background may be helpful."

The woman stepped back to allow them to enter. "Of course, anything you need, you just ask."

Bailey took the woman and her children into the kitchen, partly to keep them out of Hood's way and partly to fill her in on any changes in her husband's condition. Jacob and Rachel moved into the living room which was dominated by a large Christmas tree.

Rachel looked around curiously. Hood was drifting around the room, poking into corners, examining the decorations on the mantelpiece. This was a new territory for her, the two previous cases on which she had accompanied him didn't involve going into the victims homes looking for clues as to what happened to them.

"What exactly does an environmental scan consist of?"

"Hum?" Jacob looked up, an abstracted expression on his face.

"An environmental scan," Rachel repeated patiently. "What does it consist of? Are you going to take samples of stuff or what?"

"Oh! No, I just want to look around."

"You mean you want to search these people's houses?" Rachel asked exasperated. "Why didn't you just say so?"

Jacob looked at her in surprise, "I did."

Shaking her head, Rachel continued to follow Hood as he patiently went over every room. "What are you looking for?" she finally asked.

"Nothing in particular, I just wanted to look around."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

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They had searched two more houses before Jacob decided they should call it a day. Bailey accompanied them to the local hotel; he wanted to confirm their schedule for the next day. They had just reached the front desk when his radio crackled. He excused himself to take the call from his station as they checked in.

Jacob noted Bailey's smile as he rejoined them. "Good news? We could use some."

"Well, _you _might call this good news. Agent Tidwell has been recalled to Little Rock." He shot a look at Rachel. "Seems he told them the _man_ from the FBI declined CID assistance and refused to cooperate with him."

"Shame," Rachel said deadpan. "I was looking forward to working with him."

Bailey laughed and took his leave, promising to return bright and early to accompany them on their searches of the remaining homes.

"Well, you were right about him." Jacob shook his head. "And I have to admit I'm glad you got rid of him so effectively." He looked sideways at Rachel, "Saved me the trouble."

His lips twitched as the flash of surprise on her face. "I found his rudeness toward you unacceptable. Having to deal with that, with him, would have been a distraction from my work. It's best he's out of the picture. But," Jacob continued with mock indignation, "I don't think it's fair that I take the blame for his departure."

"Why?" Rachel suppressed a smile. "Afraid you'll get a rep as being difficult to work with?"

Jacob gaped at her in surprise. A joke, a definite joke at his expense; this was a first. None of his other handlers had ever teased him.

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The next day proved, from Rachel's point of view, almost as boring and pointless as the day before. They spent the morning prowling through the houses of the remaining patients. Hood questioned their relatives, asking about their habits and movements in the previous month. So far he hadn't come up with any ideas.

They were sitting in the local diner with Bailey grabbing lunch. Even though it was the day before Christmas, the people around them were subdued, chatting quietly. Bailey was discouraged, he had hoped the appearance of this fancy doc from the feds meant there would be a quick explanation to what was going on in his town.

"I can't believe how this outbreak is getting to everyone. We all thought we'd end the year on a high note. Yeah, we were all expecting a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year."

"Oh? Why is that?" Rachel asked as she picked at her French fries.

"This county has been having a hard time since the recession. The aluminum factory closed down a couple of years back and lots of people were out of work. Then this new plastics factory opened up a few months ago. It brought in a lot of good paying jobs."

Jacob raised his head sharply. "A new manufacturing factory? I don't recall seeing anything about it in the CDC's reports."

Bailey raised his eyebrows at Hood's question. "Why should it concern them? It's not like all of the sick people work there."

"But some do?"

"Yeah, three of the guys who are sick work at the factory. But that's it."

"What about the others?" Jacob questioned him. "Are you sure there aren't any other connections to the place?"

"I don't think so," Bailey began, then he paused thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, my deputy? Bill Heen? His brother-in-law Marty works there."

"So we have at least half of the affected people with a connection to the factory." Jacob looked at Bailey and Rachel, "we need to check that place out. Now."

The threesome made their way the plastics factory that stood at the edge of town. There they met with the first sign of resistance to their investigation.

"Look, I'm sorry Eric," said the manager. "But it would mean my job if I let you people in here to poke around without a warrant."

"Damn it, Charlie," Bailey swore. "No one is accusing you of doing anything illegal. The doc here just needs to look around, see if this place is the source of the meningitis outbreak."

"Yeah, right," Charlie retorted. "You expect me to let the FBI in here without notifying the company's lawyers? If this place is the source, they could get their asses sued off. So until you can show me a warrant, I gonna have to ask you to leave."

Rachel opened and closed her mouth. Working in C-T, they never needed a warrant. The Patriot Act took care of that little technicality for them. All they needed a was a link, however tenuous, to an act of terror, and they could search, access, anything they needed. She wondered briefly if they could get away with that here. After all, Hood _had_ said this bacteria could be man-made, he hadn't dismissed the fact it could be a test of a biological weapon. She shrugged, Hood didn't seem the kind of guy who would cut corners. She decided not to mention it.

Jacob was seething with frustration as they stood at the gates of the factory. "I can't believe the manager is being so obstructive. Worrying about what a bunch of lawyers would say when we're faced with a public health crisis." He broke off his rant as a whistle blew and people began pouring out of the factory gates. A look of satisfaction crossed his face.

"Well, if Mohammed can't go to the mountain, maybe the mountain will come to Mohammed."

"Huh? I think you got that backward." Rachel said.

Jacob looked at her, his head titled, biting his lip. "Maybe it would be more accurate to say there's more than one way to skin a cat." Raising his voice, he called out, "Excuse me, if I could have your attention?"

As the crowd of curious workers surrounded Jacob, he quickly explained what he needed. Soon he had a group willing to accompany him to the hospital where he would test their clothing, take samples from their shoes, and swab their skin looking for traces of the meningitis bacteria. While he and Rachel went with these workers, he requested Bailey to collect soil samples from outside the fences surrounding the factory and water samples from the sewage ditch running from the factory.

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It was late in the day when Jacob looked up from his microscope with a grunt of dis-satisfaction. He and Kessler had spent the last few hours testing the samples they had collected from the workers at the plastics factory and the water and soil samples Bailey had provided for them.

"Not a trace of the bacteria anywhere. It's a dead-end."

"Now what?" Rachel asked.

Jacob scrubbed his hands across his face. "I don't know, I guess we're back to square one. What time is it?"

"Six-thirty."

Stretching out his back, Jacob grimaced. "I guess we might as well finish up here. Get something to eat and see if anything occurs to me tomorrow."

"Why don't you come down to the station and have dinner with us?" Bailey suggested. He smiled as Jacob and Rachel looked at him doubtfully. "It's kind of a tradition. My wife and Janet Heen, they make Christmas Eve dinner for all of us who have to work today, tonight. You're both more than welcome to join us."

"Thank you, but…"

"You might as well." Bailey lifted a shoulder. "There's always plenty of food. Besides, everyplace here in town has closed down by now. You'll have to drive almost out to the interstate to find a fast-food place open."

Glancing at Rachel, Jacob saw her almost imperceptibly nod her head, signaling her willingness to fall in with Bailey's plan. He was relieved to be spared another bad meal.

"Thank you, we'll be happy to join you."

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"Daddy!"

Bailey smiled as two children, a girl about ten years old and a younger boy flung themselves at him. He gave them a quick hug and turned to introduce them to Jacob and Rachel.

"Dr. Hood, Agent Young, these are my kids, Olivia and Nick. Kids, these are the people the FBI sent to help us out."

The two children looked at Rachel with big eyes, ignoring Jacob's existence. Olivia looked at her brother quickly and, at his nod of encouragement, turned back to Rachel.

"Are you really an FBI agent?"

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Yep."

Olivia regarded Rachel avidly. "My daddy said you put a goddamned statie on his ass in about ten seconds. Is that true?"

"Olivia Ann Bailey! You watch your language! And on Christmas Eve." A woman scolded the girl.

"But daddy said…" Olivia tried to protest.

"I don't care what daddy said," the woman shot a mock glare at Bailey. "Santa's going to leave him a stocking full of coal and you too if you're not careful."

Bailey grabbed the woman into a hug. "And this is my wife Gracie. Here, let me help you get dinner out."

Laughing, the two left arm in arm, leaving Jacob and Rachel with the children. Olivia looked at Rachel expectantly. "So…did you?"

"Damn straight I did."

Olivia and Nick began pelting Rachel with questions. About her gun, if she knew karate, if she had ever arrested any bad guys. Jacob watched her covertly, slightly startled at the way the chilly, ever so correct Agent Young was smiling and talking to the sheriff's children.

When dinner was served, the children grabbed Rachel by the hands and sat her down between them. She spent the meal time listening to their chatter, teasing them about Santa's coming visit, and helping them with their meals.

Olivia and Nick protested when their mother announced it was time to leave. Jacob's eyebrows climbed up his forehead when Rachel gave both children a hug and reminded them there was still time to be moved to the naughty list. He took note of her behavior and tucked it away to add to the store of information he was slowly collecting about her.

Olivia returned Rachel's hug with the declaration she was going to be an FBI agent when she grew up.

"Oh, I don't think so," he father growled as he came up behind them and wrapped his arms around his daughter.

"Why not?" Rachel bristled.

"What, my daughter grow up to be a fed?" Bailey winked at her. "Nope, if she's gonna be a cop, she'll be a county cop like her dad."

Olivia giggled and squirmed out of her father's arms and ran to get her coat.

Rachel looked after the girl thoughtfully. "You know, her growing up to be a fed isn't the worst that could happen."

Bailey looked at her skeptically, "yeah?"

She grinned at him, "She could grow up to be a goddamned statie."


	2. Chapter 2

Rachel shivered as she looked out her hotel window. It had snowed during the night and the world was white as far as she could see. She knew most people hoped for a white Christmas but, a child of the deserts of Arizona, she couldn't see the point. To her, snow meant cold and difficulty traveling.

She dressed quickly, wondering what Hood would have on the program for today. She holstered her weapon and picked up her cell phone. She hesitated, wondering if she should call her father to wish him a Merry Christmas. She compromised, sending a quick text message; _'Merry Christmas. Case keeping us busy, will try to call later.'_ It wasn't a complete lie, she thought.

Hood answered his door, coat in hand. "I had an idea; we need to go back out to the plastics factory…" He broke off as Rachel slowly shook her head. "What?"

"It's Christmas Day, Hood. The factory is closed."

Jacob was taken aback. He had forgotten the difficulties of carrying on an investigation during the holidays. He furrowed his brow, trying to decide what would be the best course of action for today. His face cleared, he realized what he needed to do first.

"Excuse me," he murmured. Moving across the room to the windows, he pulled out his cell phone. "Hello? Merry Christmas Owen."

Rachel waited awkwardly as Hood carried on his conversations. This was the part of her job she found the most uncomfortable; being privy to the personal details of someone else's life. She had been grateful when she discovered how limited Hood's life was; he basically went to work, to official social functions, and to his sister's. She was relieved she hadn't had to chaperone him on a date…yet.

She pulled out her own cell phone as a distraction. Having an iPhone was an advantage in situations like this. Even if she didn't do anything more than watch a cat video on YouTube it allowed her to establish the illusion of privacy for Hood while permitting her to maintain surveillance on his position.

"Here, Alex would like to talk to you."

Rachel looked up in confusion as Hood held his phone out to her. She took it tentatively.

"Hello….oh, Merry Christmas to you too…. ah, yeah, sure, thanks." She handed the phone back to Hood, slightly discomfited. Alex Hood had just invited her to accompany her brother to her house for a belated Christmas dinner as soon as they got back to DC. She knew the woman realized she'd accompany Hood as a matter of course. But not as a guest, it was her job. Normally she'd patrol the property or wait in an out of the way room while Hood visited his family.

But Alex Hood made it clear that she would be setting a place for her at the table. It wasn't appropriate but now wasn't the time to have that conversation with her. Rachel hoped she would be more successful in explaining her role in Hood's life to his sister than she had been with Hood himself. He might be a brilliant biophysicist but he had trouble grasping what it meant to have a protection detail, the boundaries that needed to be firmly in place for her to do her job properly. She could see how this insouciant disregard for protocol could have annoyed her predecessors.

She handed the phone back to Hood and he ended his call with a chuckle.

"It seems my gift to Owen wasn't a total success."

Rachel's brow creased briefly, wondering what he was talking about. Her face lit up with amusement as she recalled the trip to the mall. "I take it his mother wasn't thrilled with the chemistry set?"

Jacob shook his head ruefully, "It seems Owen has already caused one minor explosion in the kitchen today." At the look on Rachel's face he defended himself. "It was only lemon juice and baking soda; it made a bit of a mess but there wasn't any real damage."

Rachel rolled her eyes but didn't make a comment. Instead she turned to his plans for their day. "Since a visit to a factory is out, do you have anything else you want to do?" She hoped he came up with an alternative course of action; the thought of spending a whole day with nothing to do but keep Hood company was distinctly unappealing.

Jacob stood lost in thought for a moment. Rachel waited patiently; when Hood had "that look" on his face it meant he was sorting out his thoughts and his preoccupation with what was inside his head meant he was unaware of the world outside his head.

"The hospital." Jacob announced decisively. "Robert will be there and we can review the patients' files again. I have a feeling there's something I'm missing there."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

After a quick breakfast in the hospital cafeteria, they found Kessler at work in the lab the hospital had made available to them. Jacob greeted him warmly and the two men proceeded to review all of the information the hospital had collected on the condition of the meningitis patients.

After a while, Rachel began to be bored. The hospital was fairly deserted; no one had even walked down the hallway in the last hour. There was nothing for her to check out, no one for her to evaluate, nothing that presented a threat to Hood. She decided she needed a snack.

"I'll be right back; don't leave this room until I get back."

Jacob face twisted in an impatient acknowledgment of her words. He thought her warning unnecessary; he and Robert had more than enough to do here.

Kessler's eyes followed Rachel as she left the lab. Stretching, he contemplated his friend, wondered about his relationship with the attractive blond. "Looks like the rumors were true."

"Rumors? What are you talking about?" Jacob looked up quizzically. "Something about these patients?"

"No, I mean the rumors about you having an FBI agent stuck to your side. Funny, no one mentioned the agent was a good-looking woman."

Jacob shrugged. "The agent is because there was an, uh, incident about a year ago. As for Rachel, Agent Young, she hasn't been with me long."

"Must be interesting to have her as a travelling companion."

Jacob stiffened a bit. "Rachel is hardly a _travelling companion_; she's my bodyguard and handler." He raised an eyebrow. "And I suggest you treat her with the respect she deserves unless you want to end up on your ass like Tidwell."

Kessler opened his mouth to make a comment when the _other_ rumors about Jacob Hood came back to him. He closed his mouth as he recalled them; rumors of a breakdown when his wife died almost two years ago. Those who attended the funeral reported that Jacob was so distraught over her death he hadn't been able to speak to anyone.

Then word had spread that he had gone into seclusion, his classes cancelled, his graduate students reassigned. When he finally did reappear it wasn't in his lab at Stanford, it was in Washington DC where he had taken up permanently this position with the FBI. People wondered if he was avoiding Palo Alto and the memories it must contain. He looked at Jacob speculatively, _'Maybe he is as indifferent to her as he appears.'_

He shrugged; if Jacob was still to grief-stricken to appreciate how attractive his handler was it wasn't any of his business. "Look, we're spinning our wheels here, why don't we take a break?"

With a small huff of irritation, Jacob agreed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel stared at the vending machine in the hospital corridor weighing her options. Salty snacks weren't her preference but the candy selections were pretty limited. She was debating the choice between Skittles and a bag of pretzels when Hood entered the corridor followed by Kessler.

"I thought I told you to stay put." Rachel frowned in irritation. "You know you're not supposed to wander around by yourself."

"I'm hardly wandering around. I merely walked into the corridor where, I might point out, you are standing."

"But what if I _hadn't_ been here?" she retorted. "Would you have waited until I came back?"

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Let's not argue, it's a moot point anyway. Robert and I decided to take a break for coffee. We're at a stand-still."

His lips twitched into a brief smile as he watched Rachel make her purchase. It was a source of some amusement to him that someone so well-disciplined couldn't resist the lure of any nearby vending machine.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They sat quietly in a corner of the cafeteria, Hood and Kessler half-heartedly throwing out theories as to what could be occurring in Arkadelphia.

"I know how you feel about first-hand observation Jacob," Kessler said, "but I don't think your environmental scans added anything to what we already know."

"I can't help but feel that I've seen something, something significant, it's just not registering. Why these people? There's no connection between them, they aren't any different from anyone else in town, so why did they pick up the bacteria?"

Kessler frowned. "I agree, how eight previously healthy individuals could suddenly develop bacterial meningitis is beyond me."

"They weren't all healthy."

Kessler looked at Rachel, puzzled. "What are you talking about? Trust me; I've been over their records with a fine-tooth comb. Before they presented with meningitis, they weren't ill."

Rachel shrugged, accepting Kessler's dismissal. She wasn't going to argue with him, even if she felt he was over-stating things. The case wasn't her job, protecting Hood was.

Jacob looked at her curiously; Rachel normally didn't offer observations on what he was doing. The few times she had, what she had to say was worth listening too. "Why?"

"Why what?" Rachel's lips curved up slightly. "I've told you before Hood, you need to use complete sentences."

"Why did you say that? Why don't you think they were all healthy?" Jacob asked patiently.

"The pill bottles." Rachel shrugged again. "Almost all of them had prescription pill bottles at home; some of them had a bunch."

"That's hardly conclusive," Kessler snorted in derision. "Those bottles may not even belong…."

"No, Rachel's right," Jacob interrupted. "I remember those bottles. Most of these people did have some sort of chronic condition before they developed meningitis. They weren't what you would classify as "ill" but they did require medication."

"Yes," Kessler was impatient. "Most of them did have some kind of chronic condition, allergies, eczema, arthritis, but nothing that could lead to meningitis."

"No." Jacob agreed. "But they have a common element, steroids. They all should be on some form of steroid medication."

"No, I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong." Kessler was firm. "You're thinking of that case, a year or so ago, when bacterial meningitis was transmitted via steroids. But those patients were all taking injectable steroids, we don't have that here."

"Still, it's a commonality we need to explore further."

Kessler remained skeptical. "I don't see it Jacob, they may all be on some form of a steroid medication but each one is taking something different. How could that contribute to the meningitis outbreak?"

"The steroids used in the various medications could have been contaminated in the manufacturing process." Jacob looked at him, head tilted, "I think we need to go back and talk to these people."

"That doesn't make sense," Kessler argued. "Like I said, they're all taking different medications, medications most likely not even manufactured by the same pharmaceutical company."

"What if they were manufactured locally, right here in Arkadelphia."

Kessler's jaw dropped. "A compounding pharmacy? Yes, that would explain it."

"What's a compounding pharmacy?" Rachel asked.

"'It's A Wonderful Life' was on TV last night; did you watch it?" Jacob asked in return.

"Uh, yeah, why?" Rachel was curious as to where Hood was going with that question. In anyone else she would have dismissed it as a non sequitur but she was quickly learning his strange questions usually had a point. He almost always had a story to tell.

"Remember Mr. Gower, the pharmacist? How he made a mistake preparing some medicine?"

Rachel nodded.

That's what a compounding pharmacy does, actually makes the medicines, the formulas it dispenses."

"Don't all pharmacies do that?" she asked doubtfully.

"Not anymore. Most pharmacies purchase their drugs from the big pharmaceutical companies. When they say they're filling your prescription, that's exactly what they're doing. Transferring pills from one big bottle to the smaller one they give you." Jacob shrugged. "Most of the people doing that work aren't even licensed pharmacists, they're trained technicians."

"But a compounding pharmacy…" Rachel still wasn't clear.

"Actually makes some of their own drugs on site. They don't entirely rely on big pharma for their products; they purchase the basic ingredients for some things and make them on demand."

"Why go to all that trouble?"

"Well, some people are allergic to the preservative agents used in drugs; sometimes it's as simple as people wanting a certain flavoring for their medicine."

"Flavoring?"

"Uh, huh," Jacob smiled. "Did you ever have an ear infection when you were a child?"

Rachel shook her head.

"Well, it's a common aliment in children and the drug of choice to treat it is amoxicillin. The drug companies generally make it with a sweet bubblegum flavor, to make it more palatable. But some kids don't like that flavor. So a compounding pharmacy will make amoxicillin in any flavor you request, orange, grape, whatever. It's almost like they're making designer drugs, they tailor the formula to each particular patient."

Jacob turned back to Kessler. "That's why we need to talk to those people. To see if they've been patronizing the same pharmacy."

Kessler shrugged, "If you want. It's not like we have any other avenues to explore. But don't forget, Jacob, the high school student and the deputy, they both _were _in perfect health, not on any medication at all."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jacob stared at the whiteboard he had set up in the lab. It was covered with information. There was a column for each patient listing every medication they took and the source of the medication. Jacob was elated when his hypothesis seemed to be valid. As he suspected, almost all of the patients used the same compounding pharmacy, Vickery's, and had the pharmacist make up their medicines rather than taking a standard formula. And almost all of the patients were taking a steroid based medication.

But two columns were completely blank. Kessler was right about Don Spaulding, the high school student, and Bill Heen, the deputy. Neither of them took any regular medication.

"Maybe they picked up the infection in a secondary fashion," Jacob mused. "Heen, the deputy, he's a first responder. Maybe he had some contact, somewhere, somehow, with one of the others."

"Maybe," Kessler conceded, "but he says not. And don't forget, he was one of the first to present. I guess we could go back and talk to him again, look over his duty rosters, but it seems unlikely. And how would you account for Spaulding? The kid isn't on any medication and he didn't have any contact, or any reason to have any contact, with the others. I'm sorry Jacob, but I'm afraid this is just another dead end."

Jacob was nodding in reluctant agreement when a middle-aged woman entered the room. "Excuse me? I'm Andrea Spaulding, Don's mother?"

Jacob got to his feet immediately. "Yes, Mrs. Spaulding, what can we do for you?"

"It's what my son, Don, just told me. He said you were asking him about any medicines he took right before he came down with meningitis?" She hesitated, but Jacob nodded at her encouragingly. "Then, I was talking to Mrs. Gilliam in the hallway and she said you were asking about the pharmacy, and well, I got to wondering…."

Under Jacob's patient questioning the woman soon told her story. Her son hadn't been taking any medicines before he became he developed meningitis. While on a camping trip with his church's youth group, however, her son contracted poison ivy. When she complained to the local pharmacist that the calamine lotion she purchased at a chain drug store irritated her son's skin further, he mixed up a special cream to soothe the rash. Jacob was pleased when Mrs. Spaulding volunteered to go home and retrieve the cream.

A short while later Jacob's hypothesis was strengthened. Not only did the cream the pharmacist prepared contain steroids, it also contained traces of the meningitis bacteria. "I told you this was the commonality."

"It could be a secondary infection." Kessler said. "The kid could have transferred the bacteria to the cream from his hands. And it doesn't explain the deputy. He's still unaccounted for."

"What do you mean, Bill's unaccounted for? He's in his room, I just came from there."

Jacob nodded at Sherriff Bailey. "Robert and I are having a disagreement. It seems all of the meningitis patients, with the exception of your deputy, have some kind of condition that was treated with steroids recently."

Bailey gave a small laugh. "Until he got meningitis Bill hadn't been treated for anything in years. The guy's the healthiest person I know. He claims it's from all the vitamins and supplements he takes."

Rachel nodded in understanding. She also was on a multi-vitamin regime. People in their line of work couldn't afford to get sick. But Jacob's eyes widened in surprise.

"What do you mean? He told us he wasn't taking anything regularly."

"I don't know about that," Bailey said, "but he takes a couple of vitamins a day plus some kind of nutritional supplement."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The deputy looked up in surprise when the four of them descended on his room. He was slightly aggrieved when he realized they suspected him of lying to them. He pointed out they had asked him specifically if he was on any medications.

"Which I'm not," he said self-righteously. "Shit, most of that stuff is little better than poison. Have you ever paid attention to the lists of side-effects in the drug commercials? Half of them sound worse than the original disease. That's why I only take all-natural, organic vitamins and supplements."

Jacob's lips twitched but he didn't argue with the man. "Really? And where do you purchase them?"

"Oh, at the pharmacy here in town. Alan Vickery makes 'em up special, just for me."

Bailey called Janet Heen and asked her to bring Bill's collection of pills and supplements to the hospital for testing. Jacob wasn't surprised when one of the supplements contained not only traces of an anabolic steroid but also traces of the meningitis bacteria.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I have to admit you called it Jacob." Kessler said. "The source of the infection has to be that pharmacy. What I can't understand now is why we had so few cases. I mean, that place must fill hundreds of prescriptions a day."

"Not exactly," Bailey said. "Vickery's Pharmacy is a small operation. Alan doesn't take all the different kinds of insurance so most folks use one of the big chain drug stores." He shrugged. "Even if he does take your insurance, lots of time he doesn't carry some medicines. Alan says he's running more of a specialty store."

"Christmas Day or not, I think we need to check out Mr. Vickery's pharmacy, now." Jacob said. The others nodded in agreement.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As he let them into his store, Alan Vickery expressed surprise and dismay that they could think his pharmacy was the hub of the meningitis outbreak.

"I may be a small outfit, but I follow all the sanitary procedures scrupulously. I find it hard to believe my drugs are what made people sick."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Vickery," Jacob replied. "But the fact of the matter is at least two products we know of, prepared by you, contain traces of the bacteria."

He nodded in defeat. "This is going to kill my business. So, what do you want to see first?"

Vickery looked on in distress as Jacob and Kessler thoroughly searched the dispensing area in the pharmacy. He would nervously push his glasses up his nose or rub his face every time either of them asked him a question. They tested the surface of his workbench and his lab equipment and found no traces of the bacteria. Undeterred, they then began testing his supply of anabolic steroids. Vickery visibly began to relax as test after test came up negative.

As they left the pharmacy in defeat, Vickery was elated. "I knew my pharmacy wasn't the source of the meningitis." He narrowed his eyes at Jacob and Kessler. "And I hope you make it clear to whoever knew about your suspicions it wasn't. I have a hard enough time competing against the chains without rumors about the purity of my drugs going around."

Leaving Kessler to placate the pharmacist, Jacob turned to look for Rachel. He spotted her murmuring something to Bailey that caused the man to smother a laugh. He stomped over to them, still seething with frustration. "Well, I'm glad someone found something to laugh about today. Care to share your comments Agent Young?"

Rachel bristled at the tone of Hood's voice. _'Jerk, like it's my fault his big idea didn't pan out.'_ "No." She glared at Hood.

Bailey hastily tried to smooth things over. He glanced around and, satisfied the others couldn't hear them, said, "it's nothing Dr. Hood. Agent Young only mentioned that maybe Alan would do more business if he didn't smell like a goat."

"Goat? What are you talking about?" Jacob looked at Rachel blankly. "I didn't smell anything."

"Maybe because he didn't keep trying to stand next to you." She grimaced at the memory. Nervous as he was about the FBI and the CDC investigating his shop, it didn't prevent Vickery from trying to strike up a conversation with her. "Trust me, when he got up close and personal, it was hard to ignore."

"Goats," Jacob repeated. This time a smile broke out on his face. "Goats…that must be it." He turned toward the others. "Excuse me, Mr. Vickery; do you by any chance raise goats?"

Vickery broke off his conversation with Kessler to look at Jacob quizzically. "What? Um, yeah. I do a little farming. Plus I keep a couple of goats, some chickens, and bees. Why?"

"Have any of your goats been sick recently?"

Vickery looked at him in confusion. "No, they've been fine. Well, not exactly fine, but not sick." He began shaking his head at the look on Jacob's face. "They weren't really sick, just ate some bad feed. The vet gave 'em some antibiotics and they're fine now."

"Bad feed? What exactly were the symptoms? What did the vet diagnose?"

"Like I said, some of their feed was bad, they all had a bout of diarrhea, but the vet gave me some antibiotics and they were fine in a day or two."

"But what did the vet diagnose?" Jacob pressed the man.

"He didn't say, he gave me an antibiotic for the diarrhea and that was the end of it."

"We need to talk to that vet." Jacob declared as Kessler nodded vigorously in agreement.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel couldn't contain her curiosity as they drove over to the vet's home. "Do you think Vickery's sick goats caused the meningitis? That he's selling meat or milk that's contaminated?"

"No, it's may turn out to be simpler than that. If what I suspect is true, then the goats are patients zero in our meningitis outbreak."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Well, it's clear, Vickery's goats _were_ patients zero in this outbreak." Kessler declared as they filed back into the hospital lab.

It had taken a while, but they finally tracked the vet down at his in-law's home. The man was annoyed at being pulled away from his family but it turned out he didn't need to resort to his files. He remembered Vickery's goats easily. As Jacob suspected, the goats had listeriosis.

"I don't understand, though," Bailey said. "The goats didn't have meningitis, so how come all these people came down with it?"

"The listeria bacteria presents differently in humans and animals. When the bacteria were transferred by Vickery to a human host, it was absorbed by the brain, hence, the meningitis." Jacob explained.

"How did Alan pass along the bacteria along anyway? Didn't that fool didn't have the good sense to wash up after tending to his animals?"

Jacob's lips twitched. "He most likely did wash his hands and arms, change his clothes. Unfortunately, he didn't think to wash his face." He raised his hand to his nose when they all looked at him quizzically. "I noticed Vickery touched his glasses, his face a lot. He transferred the bacteria to his face from his hands." He shrugged. "Even if he wore gloves when he was mixing his medicines, his gloved hands would still come into contact with his face, transferring the bacteria into whatever he was working on."

"So the steroids were a coincidence?" Bailey asked.

"Yeah," Kessler answered. "Vickery just happened to prepare those medicines during the incubation period of his goats' illness. Any medicines he touched after touching his face would have been infected. We're, he's, lucky only eight people were affected."

"Why didn't he get sick?" Rachel wanted to know. "If he had bacteria all over his face, why didn't he get meningitis?"

"That's another example of his luck," Jacob replied. He shook his head in disgust, "if he had nicked his face while shaving or was a careless about washing his hands before eating, he would have been infected along with everyone else."

"Well, I'm damned glad this thing is over," Bailey declared. "People were starting to worry, wondering if maybe someone out there was doing this on purpose. He extended his hand to Jacob and Kessler. "Dr. Hood, Dr. Kessler, it was interesting working with you." He nodded to Rachel, "and Agent Young, for fed, you weren't half bad."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel wasn't surprised when they didn't leave Arkadelphia immediately. As in their previous cases, Hood seemed to feel the need to dot all the i's and cross all the t's before heading back to DC. She didn't mind the down time, it gave her a chance to get her own paperwork in order. And in a grudging way, it increased the respect she had for him. It seemed he wasn't all about the job, about the science.

As the Special Science Advisor, his job was finished once he had identified the source of the meningitis outbreak. Once it was clear there was no abuse of science, no threat to national security, he could have left. If had chosen to do so, they could have caught a plane and been back in DC in time for Hood to spend at least part of Christmas Day with his family.

Instead, he stayed until he and the doctor from the CDC were satisfied there were no lingering problems. She was a bit surprised his previous handlers had put this behavior done to arrogance; his not trusting the locals to finish off the job. To her, it was clear he actually cared about the people who had been affected and he wanted to be certain they were all right.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel was relaxing, her eyes closed, the music from her earbuds drowning out the noise of the aircraft engines, when she felt her arm being poked. She opened her eyes in irritation, wondering what the hell Hood could want. He _knew_ he didn't need to be escorted to the bathroom at 25,000 feet. To her surprise he was looking at her expectantly.

She removed one earbud. "What?"

"Your present. I forgot to give it to you earlier." Jacob pointed to a small, brightly wrapped package on her tray table.

She looked at him blankly. "You shouldn't have."

"I know I didn't have to, I wanted to."

"No," she explained patiently, "you really shouldn't have, it's inappropriate." She looked at him in exasperation. She had already explained to him, twice, that she was there to protect him, not be his friend. While she was resigned to letting him use her first name, she made it clear there were lines they would _never_ cross.

"Inappropriate?" Jacob's lips twitched. "Don't worry, it's not jewelry or clothes." At Rachel's look of confusion he explained airily, "according to Miss Manners it would be inappropriate for a gentleman to give clothes or jewelry to a lady to whom he is not engaged."

He pushed the small package closer to her. "Since it's not either of those, it's not inappropriate."

Rachel reached out and pushed the package back toward him. "Ah, but I didn't get you anything."

"That's ok." He pushed the package toward her again. "If it makes you feel better, you can think of it not as a Christmas present but more as a token to recognize your longevity."

"What?"

Jacob lifted a shoulder negligently. "Well, you've been with me two months, that's longer than any of the others. Look," he said coaxingly, "it really isn't that big of a deal. It's just a little something I saw and thought you'd like."

Capitulating, Rachel opened the package. It was a box of gourmet jelly beans. "Ah, these are great." She turned her head to give Hood a genuine smile. "Thank you, I really like them."

Jacob blinked in surprise at the way the smile transformed her face. In the place of cool, reserved Agent Young was a very attractive young woman. It suddenly stuck him why people assumed he might have some personal interest in her. "Um,… you're welcome."

To Jacob's disappointment, Rachel put her earbud back in and closed her eyes. He was intrigued by the change in her expression and had hoped they might talk for a while. Sighing, he pulled a book out of his carry-on.

He respected, for the most part, her dictates on the boundaries required for her to do her job effectively. Still, he couldn't see the problem with them _occasionally_ sharing a friendly moment. It was the thing that irritated him the most about his protection detail; their insistence on remaining aloof from him, from the work he did, from everything, at all times. It made him uncomfortable being watched silently, dispassionately, as if he was a subject of some kind of experiment.

A few minutes later, absorbed in his book, Jacob was startled to feel his arm being poked. Looking over at Rachel, he saw that while she still had her earbuds in, she had opened her box of candy and, with a smile, was offering him some. Returning her smile, he declined the treat.

It was a small thing, but her obvious pleasure in her present, along with the memory of her warm interactions with the sheriff's children, kindled a slight bit of optimism. _'Maybe this one will allow herself to act like a human being after all.'_ He returned to his book comforted by the idea that maybe, just maybe, Ty had finally found him an agent with whom he could build a decent working relationship.


End file.
